Chapter 38
The alder dagger skittered across the dirt, leaving a crimson trail in its wake. Blood pumped down the prince’s chest from where I had driven it with all my strength through layers of skin and muscle.
It had been too easy to pull the dagger from his belt during our frenzied embrace. The voice that had commanded me to do so had foreseen it. Its orders had pooled in my mind like honey since I had arrived in the clearing.
But the prince’s knees did not buckle. His fingers were wrapped firmly around my wrist, his grip so firm he could have crushed bone if he tried. For the first time since I had met him, he looked terrified. His green eyes bored into my own. Confused, but still vibrant.
Get the blade. My skin crawled at the sound. Now.
A stranger’s will overtaking my body, I flung myself in the direction of the dagger. Enhart was quick to follow, but I was quick now, too. He grunted as he collided headfirst with a ward.
The flame, urged the voice.
An image of cobalt-blue fire flickered behind my eyes.
I froze, willing the Ealdorfyre to come to me, but my thoughts were as uncoordinated as my movements, and it would not come when I called.
Instead, I conjured a dizzying mist, wrapping it around myself like a cloak of invisibility.
Enhart called my name, blinded by my magic.
The knife, the voice reminded me. Before it’s too late.
Any sense of resistance had been wiped away by the stranger to whom the voice belonged.
I dropped to my knees, searching frantically for the blade.
My fingers skirted over stones, clods of dirt, and clumps of wildflowers that had been dislodged in the struggle, but the dagger was nowhere to be found.
I cried out as Enhart threw himself headlong into my side.
“No!” I shrieked, writhing beneath the prince like a fox caught in a snare. I flailed my arms, clawing at Enhart’s exposed skin. He grunted, pinning my arms to the earth beneath his own.
Failure, mocked the voice. I howled as a sharp burst of pain clawed its way through my bones, as if whoever commanded my body intended to rip me apart from the inside.
A chorus of frantic voices caught my attention. As the mist dissipated, I spotted the Master at Arms and a dozen of his soldiers out of the corner of my eye. They surrounded us, their crossbows aimed at me. At the center of the group was Mordric, his eyes wild as he took in the scene before him.
Wrenching an arm from Enhart’s grip, I pulled a stream of orange flames out of the air, flicking it like a whip toward the company.
A soldier yelped in surprise, loosing a bolt from his crossbow with a twang.
It flew so low over the top of Enhart’s head that it ruffled his hair.
The flames grew, writhing like snakes until Enhart and I were ensnared in a fiery ring.
“Hold your fire!” shouted Mordric. “Hold your godsdamn fire!”
The voice cackled in my mind. When he discovers what you’ve done here tonight, he’ll be begging them to loose their bolts.
“Let me go!” I shrieked.
“Finn,” Enhart gasped, his grip unrelenting. “This isn’t you.”
As quickly as it had begun, the pain vanished, leaving me gasping for air in the prince’s arms. The soldiers’ barking grew distant. My skin and hair had grown damp from the heat of the fire. The delicate fabric of my gown was plastered to my skin.
When my lips parted, the words that slipped from between them were not my own. “You’re right, princeling. It’s not her.”
In my mind’s eye, I could see the one who commanded me. A figure cloaked in scarlet at the end of a crude dais. His voice was deeper than it had been when we first met. A wisp of ashen hair fell from beneath his cowl as he lifted his chin, leaving me staring into his boyish face.
“Geraint,” I croaked.
A pall of understanding flitted across Enhart’s gaze. “Witch,” he snarled, his grip tightening. “Release her.”
Cruel laughter echoed in my ears. “Are you certain that’s what you want?” Geraint hissed through my lips. “Imagine what could happen between you if I didn’t.”
My hand was forced upwards as if on a string, running along the sharp line of Enhart’s jaw. The prince faltered for the briefest of moments, his breathing shallow, pain flickering in his eyes. Snarling, he seized my hand, pinning it above my head. “Enough. What do you want with us?”
“I want many things,” sighed Geraint through me, as if bored. “Things that I’ve been trying to achieve for many years.”
“Spit it out,” Enhart snarled.
“I want this kingdom to burn, for one.”
A witch born of flame and fueled by the blood of vampire.
Enhart snapped his jaws inches from my nose. “You’re not burning anything tonight.”
A shiver coursed through me as I watched the witch in my mind’s eye. He leaned forward, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “Perhaps,” Geraint conceded. “But I am a very patient man.”
And then, my brain was on fire.
I wailed in agony as the witch loosed his wrath upon me.
Blood poured from my nose and ears. Enhart’s voice was panicked, but his words were indiscernible.
I bucked at his touch, as if he had taken a hot iron to my bare skin.
Blood spurted from my lips onto the prince’s chin.
It spilled down the back of my throat, threatening to choke me.
As my vision blurred, the ground vibrated with the tread of heavy boots.
Then I was plunged headfirst into darkness.
When I opened my eyes, it took me a moment to recognize the crimson canopy of my prison above me.
My head ached so violently my ears rang, and my throat felt as if I had gone weeks without a single drop of water.
Rolling onto my side, I ran my tongue over my lips, the taste that lingered on them strangely familiar.
The memory of last night slammed into me.
Hazy images of the blood that pumped steadily down Enhart’s chest. The fear in his eyes as I fought him for the only weapon that could kill him.
I shivered as I recalled Geraint’s voice, seeping into my mind and commanding me like a puppet. I’d nearly killed him, I realized.
I’d nearly killed the Crown Prince of Valen. And worse—
I shot up, my pulse racing. “I kissed him.”
“Good. You’re awake.”
I clapped a hand to my mouth, my gaze landing on Dr. Murrows. The Court Physician had planted himself in an armchair in the corner of the room. He stretched, closing the small leather notebook he held between his palms.
“What happened?” I asked. “What day is it?”
He rose, taking my hand before I could protest and pressing two fingers to my wrist. “Salen’s Day.”
“Salen’s Day,” I repeated. A full night and day had passed since the events at the edge of the castle grounds.
“Your pulse is strong,” mumbled the physician. “Although I suppose that can be expected.”
“It can?” I asked, my throat aching from all the screaming.
“Prince Enhart supplied you with his blood.”
My heart sank. “What?”
“It’s perfectly hygienic, Miss Erramun. And, in my medical opinion, necessary. You nearly died.”
“What about blood debt?” I whispered.
Dr. Murrows chuckled, adjusting his spectacles. “We are not vampires, Miss Erramun. I would advise you not to concern yourself with matters unique to them. His Royal Highness took action in order to save your life, so I hardly think anyone would hold it against you.”
I wasn’t so sure.
“Where is the King?” I asked.
The physician did not meet my gaze, scribbling in his notebook. “Tied up with his advisers, I imagine.”
I bristled as a soldier stomped into the bedchamber, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. I pulled the sheets over my chest to conceal the flimsy fabric of my nightshift. Dr. Murrows did not look up from his page.
“Doctor,” barked the soldier.
“I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment,” replied Dr. Murrows.
“The King will want to hear that she’s awake,” continued the soldier, undeterred. “I suggest you go tell him.”
The physician’s features pulled into a frown. He sighed, tucking his notebook into his weathered satchel. “Of course,” he said. “You know, Miss Erramun, I don’t see many of my patients as much as you. I mean this in the kindest way possible, but I’d prefer to see less of you in the future.”
I offered a fleeting smile. “I’ll do my best.”
He patted my shoulder before falling in line behind the soldier.
“Wait!” I croaked as they disappeared through the door. The chamber swam as I stood. Panting, I staggered forward and steadied myself against the wardrobe.
I had to find Mordric, and fast. I had no idea how much he’d seen, but I knew that I had to find some way to explain myself or I would never leave this damned place. I forced my feet forward, stumbling through the doorway.
I could blame Geraint entirely, that was it. He had been the one driving me to attack Enhart. He had been the one to—
I shuddered, recalling the sensation of the kiss. The desperate, frenzied embrace with Enhart, a man I’d once despised. Had it been me or Geraint who’d instigated that closeness? My heart thudded rapidly in my chest. I wasn’t certain.
The drawing chamber appeared nothing like it had the evening before.
Every surface had been thoroughly scrubbed and polished, the faint scent of linseed oil hanging in the air.
My eyes landed on a carpet that had not been here when I first arrived.
Stooping, I peeled it aside. The evidence of Mordric and Enhart’s duel lay only in the splintered marble concealed beneath it.
As I raised my chin, the sight before me sent a chill down my spine.
A set of iron bars had replaced the doors.
I crept forward, traipsing through a fine layer of metal shavings that coated the flagstones just before the door.
My ears perked up at the sound of raised voices at the end of the corridor.